journey through

To she that leaves tonight Little fighter, warrior and hero, conqueror of hearts and thrower of flaming arrows, where is the fight in you? They called you to rise to the occasion, but why did you not show? The only chance you had was a fighting chance, but you chose to instead sink like a log. Argh child, why did they cultivate the lamb among the wolves? Why did they grow you, tiny plant among the weeds? You were a fool, a fool for love but it did not return the favour. You gave your all, but you fed a bottomless abyss that took but never had enough, and never returned. You gave it meat and it spewed out the bones. You gave it an apple and it handed back the core. If they had told you, you would have known. If they had cared to teach you, then you would have learnt, but there you are, broken and defiled, chewed and spat by the temple of freedom you sought. Why did you not look before you got to leap? You made them great and holy when you placed them upon your altar. You baptised all o

To a sorrowful one I have known and seen a woman, one who hangs at the precipice of grief. I have experienced the agony of she who has been deprived of all she had, the light of the day. At her closed mouth waits gallons of water, for the door on her clenched teeth to open and the guests to flow in, to sear her tongue and cool her burning lungs. She can taste them all, the nails, blades and cans. They celebrated her birth with wreaths, and when she died, they brought roses to her own yard. She wants to bow, but her knees refuse to give way. She wants to lie on the ground in remorse but sir, her waist refuses to bend. Oh she breaks my heart, every day when she hugs the headstone and mumbles the epitaph to herself. I see her by the grave every day, mumbling to her past daughter, weaving the grasses like she did her hair. She pampers the headstone just as she did her little one’s bony structure. She lies by the cold marble just like she did when her little one went to her room to escape

You who never got to weep They left you there, old thorn bush. The ravenous beasts ate all the grass and wiped all the leaves, but they left you there, up and astute. The elephants trampled the grass in the entire savannah, but they left you there beaming with pride and self worth. I envy you, one who never got to weep, for you have never known the searing burn of the cold. You have never known what it is to break down when you should be strong and to carry the cross. It is of you I think, the only one that the wave left behind, for you never got to stick your head into the fangs of death. You never got to be sucked into the chasm of despair. It is you that I sing in praise of, one with a perennial smile. You have no scars to heal of, and no wounds to tend to. You have no grief to suck the life out of you, and you have no mountain to climb with bleeding fingers. When I ask you about pain, you say “what pain?” when I ask you about sorrow, you ask me, “which cup?” Argh, how lucky you ar

If we must die If we must die, let it not be like cows in the slaughter, walking willingly into the bloodbaths, too meek to resist and too trusting to argue. Let us die like buffaloes in a lion chase or ants in a midday march. Let us die like termites in search of freedom in a hostile world. If we must die, let it not be like birds caught in storm or a deer by a hunter’s spear. Let it not be like foxes caught in traps or flies landing on fire. If we must die, let our death not be told to those with faint hearts and loud wails. Let it not be known by those women who know not to keep their mouth shut. Let it not be told to those frail and on the brink lest they tilt over. If we must die, let the news be hushed and kept silent. Let everyone be told that we refused to be vanquished, that the flame refused to be extinguished. Let them be told that it is not graves but a mound full of seeds and flowers. Lord, if we must die, let us waft out into your presence like sacred incense. Send a ch

If I were a lovebird If I were a lovebird, I would write you songs and sing for you up in the trees. I would live for you, wake up every morning to see your face and hear your voice. If I were a lovebird, I would have brought you flowers for your anniversary and chocolate on your birthday. I would have showered you with gifts money could buy and smother you with kisses my mouth could afford. I would wake up one morning and take you places you never imagined or even thought. I would show you the world with its tall mountains and deep seas. I would have dragged you from your little rock and put you right in the middle of my fantasy. If I was a lovebird I would let you come with me to distant mountains away from everybody and everything. What would you lack? What more would you ask for? If I were a lovebird I would never have broken your heart and left you weeping all night. I would not have left you drenching in the rain full of longings and needs. I would have kissed your lips, not bru

If ever I take to the stand... I would talk about the crown of thorns and the nails on his wrists. I would talk about the tree they brought down, the vinegar they gave him and the cries that rent the air that day. If I take to the stand I shall talk about the blood, that red blood that gave us peace and life. I would talk about the sorrow and the beatings that gave us respite. I will talk about a persecution that got us forgiven, torture that got us healed and ropes that got us freed. I would talk of the son of a carpenter, the son of a humble woman who became the lord of nations. If ever I take to the stands, I would defend a man, arrested and persecuted for giving the truth to a nation that refused to believe. I would give my testimony to all and sundry, a witness that chanted the soldiers on, a witness that spat at he who bore the tree on his back. I would stand at the witness box and I would speak, a witness whose words drip guilt and his lips beg for remorse. I will stand guilty